


Confessions - Alternate Ending

by Rosa52



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa52/pseuds/Rosa52
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 1 of this is almost identical to the first chapter of Confessions. But since the ending of Confessions is pretty out of sync with where the series begins, I decided to play with it a little to see if I couldn't make it tie into the dynamic between Danny and CJ that's there in the pilot episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh, come on,” Chris laughed, shaking her short blonde hair out of her eyes. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Look, I’ve got a guy waiting in DC, love him to death, but we’ve been bouncing from hayseed town to hayseed town for months, and there’s nothing to do but appreciate the scenery. Thompson’s 25 and fine. Admit it.” Chris raised an expectant brow at the rest of the women at the booth, drinking her beer without dropping the challenge. Katie, a veteran reporter for the _Times_ , broke first. Laughing, she conceded, “Yeah, I notice every once in a while. But not Thompson. He’s not my type. I started paying attention when the photographer from the _Globe_ joined the campaign – you know, what’s his name, the beardy one?” Halfway through her second whiskey ginger, CJ couldn’t believe she was even joining the conversation, but what the hell. She knew his name. With a slow half smile, she offered, “Joseph Fitzgerald?” “Thaaat’s the one,” Katie nodded, smiling with satisfaction. “Beautiful kid, you know? And when he wears the right jeans…” Katie paused for a moment, then decided to go for it. What the hell, she thought, they were so deep in Nebraska that the rules couldn’t possibly apply, and they were all a few drinks down. “What about you, CJ?” she asked. “Chris and I have been around these guys so long that we barely even notice half of them, but you’ve got fresh eyes.” CJ laughed, low and warm. “Hell no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not falling for this.” “Off the record!” Katie cried, feigning hurt. “Yeah, come on,” Chris teased. “Strictly between us. Be a sport.” CJ just laughed, signaling for another drink. “ _Fine_ ,” Chris said, changing course. “Donna? You don’t have anything to lose. Who’s your eye candy of choice?” Donna choked on her vodka soda and CJ rolled her eyes. “Come on, Donna, you had to see that coming,” she sighed. Donna started to look wounded, but then she noticed CJ’s teasing half smile. “I don’t know the press corps like you guys do,” she protested. “They’re hardly the only men on the campaign,” Chris challenged, unfazed by Donna’s attempt to duck the question. “You’ve noticed somebody. Give it up.” “I honestly thought I was going to get away with just listening,” Donna muttered. Just when it looked like she was going to admit defeat, though, inspiration struck. “I’ll tell if CJ does,” Donna countered with a smirk, figuring that would be the end of it. CJ, having just finished her third whiskey, was staring back at the bar with a slight smile. When she heard what Donna said, she jerked with surprise, then turned to pin Donna with an appraising stare. “Donnatella Moss,” she said with grudging respect, “Good defense.” She paused and looked back at the bar with a considering stare. “Am I going to let you get away with it, though…?”

Sitting at the bar, Danny knew full well that he probably shouldn’t be listening in on this, but it was just too entertaining to pass up. Besides, he’d already heard Chris and Katie mooning over the young reporters on the press bus. Hell, everybody had. He was just enjoying listening to the friendly sparring match, teasing himself with the prospect of hearing which reporter the new press secretary had a crush on. Not that she was going to answer, he figured. She was too cagey for that. He kept one eye on the mirror behind the bar, watching the conversation unfold, trying to seem casual without missing a word.

“Yeah, you’re going to let me get away with it,” Donna said with a grin, flicking her hair back. “You’re the press secretary. Your crushes are news.” Damn right they were, Danny silently agreed. Hell, he’d buy a paper to find out who CJ had her eye on. She had great eyes, he thought, looking down into his drink. Great legs, great… whole package, he decided. The whole damn thing. He signaled the bartender for a beer, chuckling to himself. Breaking news: he’d figured out who he liked looking at. The bartender handed him his drink and Danny nodded his thanks, tuning back in to the conversation behind him.

“I bet I could find some reporters interested in writing about who Donna Moss has the hots for,” CJ challenged. “Hell, I should start a pool, add a little entertainment to the tour.” “I think gambling’s illegal wherever we are,” Donna said drily. “Besides, if you start a pool, I start a pool.” Chris perked up. “I’m in,” she said with a grin. “Oh, hell yeah,” Katie agreed. “I want in on both of these bets. Let’s make the bus a rolling casino.” “I’m not going down for leading a rolling house of sin through America’s heartland,” CJ returned. “Now _that_ would be interesting,” Chris responded with an exaggerated leer. CJ snorted. “Imagine the headlines.” CJ chuckled, enjoying the thought. Feeling loose and warm from the whiskey, she glanced aimlessly at the copper-haired man relaxing at the bar, back turned to her. “What the hell,” she said softly. Chris looked at her expectantly while Katie’s face changed from mild confusion to an eager grin. “No formal pool,” CJ said, trying to sound stern. “And off the record. But let’s hear your best guess. If you’re right, I’ll admit it.” “And if we’re wrong?” Chris challenged. CJ sighed. “ _Maaaybe_ I’ll tell you. And we’re guessing Donna, too.”

Danny couldn’t stop his brows from flying up. That was unexpected, he had to acknowledge. CJ had a sense of humor, sure, but she was always a professional. As he started considering who he would pick in the pool, he caught himself frowning into his beer. Probably… well, she didn’t seem too enthusiastic about Fitzgerald when Katie brought him up, so not him. And if she didn’t like Fitzgerald, that probably also got rid of McCann. She hadn’t said anything about Thompson, but Thompson was still a strong contender. Pretty boy, Danny thought with light contempt, surprising himself. Maybe Gaines? He hoped not. Gaines was… tall, dark, and striking, sure, but an asshole. Philips was old, but maybe she was into silver foxes. Danny considered his choices, trying to think of anyone else he should include. At some point, eavesdropping on this particular conversation had gotten less fun, he noted. Maybe he was just tired – or maybe, his brain suggested mockingly, you’re about to hear something you’re not going to like. Danny gave a little irritated huff. So he liked looking at CJ, fine. And he liked talking to her. And listening to her talk to other people. She could like whoever she wanted. He was man enough to handle that. Unless it was Gaines, but… No, even Gaines. As Danny crankily tried to make his pick, CJ downed the rest of her drink, raising a brow at the other women. “So?” she asked archly, letting the syllable hang.

“Fitzgerald,” Katie said immediately. CJ smiled and shook her head. At the bar, Danny rolled his eyes. Waste of a guess. And suddenly, he didn’t want to be there anymore. More likely than not, CJ wasn’t going to tell them who she liked, but in that moment, the whole scenario made him itch. Danny grabbed his coat and dropped a bill on the bar, choosing to over-tip rather than wait for his change. It was easier to breathe when he made it out of the bar; leaning against the building, he let the cold air wash over him. Suddenly, the bar door opened, and Danny heard an entirely unwelcome voice exclaim, “Concannon! What are you doing out here?”

James MacMillan was a nice enough kid, but at the moment, he grated on Danny’s already raw nerves. He was such a junior reporter that, in a just world, Danny would never have had to bother talking to him. The journalists covering the Bartlet campaign were an unusual mix, though. On the press bus, experienced political reporters taking a chance for the Real Thing shared space with rookies on a throwaway assignment, which meant that MacMillan was, for all intents and purposes, a colleague. Besides that, MacMillan, who was covering his first election for the _Baltimore Sun_ , was the nephew of the last administration’s press secretary. MacMillan idolized his uncle; his most treasured lessons about what it meant to be a journalist had come from him, as had his ideas about how a press secretary should do the job. The thing was, Danny thought, suppressing a sigh, MacMillan’s uncle had been kind of a dick. As press secretary, he had practically handled the press corps with a whip and a chair, never missing a chance to assert his authority in whatever way most accentuated someone else’s powerlessness. Sure, he’d been competent, but the day he’d left the briefing room for good, the press corps had popped champagne. Somehow, MacMillan had no clue, and Danny didn’t want to be the one to tell him. “Hey, James.” “You feeling OK, man? It’s cold out here.” “Yeah,” Danny assured him with a half-hearted smile. “Just needed a little space, you know? It gets tight on the campaign trail.” “Yeah, we’re all pretty packed in. Maybe a little too close, you know? Especially seeing as it’s us and CJ. And not just on the bus, but in the bar, too.” Danny’s head started throbbing. He hadn’t meant to give MacMillan an opening, but here they were, talking about CJ, working their way to the topic of how press secretaries should handle themselves. Fixing what he hoped was a patient smile on his face, Danny took a deep breath. “I mean…”


	2. Chapter 2

Back in the bar, the bets were still on. Chris was up, but seemed torn. She hesitated, then leaned in, whispering in Donna’s ear. “No colluding!” CJ scolded. “Hey, she doesn’t know the press pool,” Chris argued. “No point in her wasting her guess.” “Who says my guy’s in the press pool?” CJ challenged. “I do,” Chris said promptly. “…Yeah, all right,” CJ conceded. “Fine. Who’s your pick?” “I won’t be as boring as Katie and just foist my crush on you. I say… Gaines.” CJ shook her head. “He’s kind of…” “What?” Chris asked. “We’re not off the record enough for that,” CJ said. “But it’s not him. All right, Donna, let’s hear Chris’ second suggestion.” “I was going to go with it,” Donna began, “but really, it just seems too… obvious.” “Hey!” Chris interjected. “Thompson’s smokin’, and anyone who says otherwise is lying.” “No, I get it,” Donna argued, “But I don’t think that’s my bet.” Chris pouted, but Katie seemed to consider it. “I can see that,” she said slowly. “Well, there’s Philips. He’s older, but he’s still got it.” “Do you like older guys, CJ?” Donna asked. CJ laughed. “I’m not helping you with this,” she began, but then relented. “Not as, like, a category. I mean, if I like an older guy, I like him, but it’s not something I look for.” “Younger guys?” “Even less likely.” “Oh, come on, CJ, just tell us.”

“Look, James, every press secretary’s different. You know, your uncle, he was a classic. Real structured, very down the line. Everyone knew what to expect with him, and nobody thought they could push him around.” _Everyone knew he’d be condescending and stingy with information while demanding deference that far exceeded the prestige of his office._ “CJ has a different approach than your uncle did.” MacMillan nodded, his smug expression making Danny wish he were cruel enough to be honest about how much the press corps didn’t miss MacMillan’s idol. It didn’t help at all when MacMillan opened his mouth. “Well, she’s new to doing this for a presidential candidate. Don’t you think some of this“ - _This?_ – “will work itself out as she gets more experience?” Was MacMillan implying that CJ was incompetent? _Shit._ MacMillan could be a pain in the ass, but someone had to tell him he couldn’t go around just saying things like that. Danny paused for a moment, searching for phrasing that would get his point past MacMillan’s ego. “I mean, you might have a point,” _asshole_ , “but there are things that don’t change with more time on the job. Your uncle was the same on his last day as he was on his first,” _regrettably_ , “and there’s no reason to think CJ’s style will change, either. She’s friendly with the press in a way your uncle wasn’t, but I think you’ll get used to her approach. She’s good, James, and she’ll only get better.” “You think the press will push her around?” “I… James, reporters always push the press secretary. It’s the game. And I don’t think she’ll respond the way your uncle did, necessarily, but she’ll hold her own.” MacMillan nodded, but looked unconvinced. Biting the bullet, Danny forged on. “MacMillan… I know you don’t mean any harm, but you need to think carefully about how you talk about press secretaries. Not just CJ Cregg, either. Anybody in that office. Because you have to work closely with them, no matter what their style is like. It’s OK to criticize, but you need to be cognizant of who you’re talking to, and make sure you don’t cross the line into being unprofessional.”

“What about Donna?” CJ deflected. Chris and Katie responded flatly, practically in unison, “Josh.” CJ sighed, a little deflated. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Josh.” “What?” Donna exclaimed. “I mean… Sam’s… cute…” her voice trailed off. They’d nailed it. “I’m predictable, I guess,” she sighed into her vodka soda. “That’s all right, sweetheart,” Katie said briskly. “He’s got a nice ass.” Chris didn’t even bother to soothe Donna’s pride, going directly for the kill. “Give it up, CJ,” she insisted, “or I’ll start guessing what you were going to say about Gaines.” At some point, CJ had gotten herself another whiskey. She took a healthy swallow, considered, and nodded. “Fair enough.” She knew she could still back out, but it felt good to be honest, and she was pretty certain that Chris and Katie would actually keep what she was about to say to themselves. Refusing to allow herself to look for Danny at the bar, CJ gave herself a moment of freedom. “I was going to say that Gaines is kind of a prick,” she said calmly. Katie’s eyes widened and she broke down laughing; Chris snorted and raised her glass in agreement. “Is that all?” the blond reporter pushed. Downing the rest of her drink, CJ gave Chris a what the hell smirk. “Danny Concannon,” she said, shrugging. “Danny Concannon in blue.”


	3. Chapter 3

She couldn’t deny that she’d felt a little deflated when, finally allowing herself to look at the bar, she’d realized that Danny had left. Still, it was probably for the best. If he’d been there, she might have kept her streak of unprofessional behavior alive. She’d had just enough whiskey that it had seemed like she should go flirt with Danny – maybe ask him to dance, see if his shoulders were as solid as they seemed. The next morning, as the press bus rolled along the prairie roads, she let herself watch him out of the corner of his eye. He looked tired, she noted with mild concern – the kind of drawn, bitter tired that was a natural fit for Toby Zeigler but was joltingly out of character for Danny Concannon. She could have sworn she’d felt his eyes on her. Normally, she would take that as an opportunity to meet his gaze – to walk to his seat and chat for a moment. Today, something about him had her off-balance, so she kept her distance. It was a good thing that there would be a few days off after today’s stop in Omaha.

Whenever the bus stopped for gas, the reporters who were working on an important story usually took the opportunity to call their editors in the relative privacy of the parking lot. Her first week on the job, CJ had used the parking lot regulars as a way to figure out which reporters she should give exclusives to. Today, she was surprised to see James MacMillan talking animatedly but secretively into his cell phone. It was a slow news week on the campaign trail – they were heading for a few days’ break from the press while the Governor prepped for the debates – and, though CJ felt unkind for thinking it, James MacMillan wasn’t a major player. Good for him, though, she thought, sending him a kind smile.

When CJ didn’t see an article with MacMillan’s byline in the _Sun_ over the next few weeks, she took it in stride. Sure, she was a little nicer to him than she would ordinarily have been when he asked a smart-ass question in the gaggle, giving him a few days to get over having an article scrapped. CJ also noticed that Danny took MacMillan aside after the gaggle and seemed to give him a frank talking-to. The next week, Bartlet officially became the Democratic nominee, and after that, CJ didn’t spare another thought for MacMillan until several months into her job in the White House.


	4. Chapter 4

MacMillan’s article hadn’t gotten scrapped, it turned out; it was just being held for the right time. The transition into office had been tough – for everyone, she would note, but she was no exception. It was nearly April now, and the job had been going well, until Wednesday. On Wednesday, Josh said something stupid to an aide for an idiotic congressman from Idaho. Trying to head it off at the pass, CJ snarked about it, unprompted, at the briefing. The press corps rebelled, and the actual news of the day was buried under a volley of questions about whether Josh’s comments and the reaction of the administration’s most visible spokesperson were just symptoms of the Bartlet administration’s arrogance and elitism. On Thursday, the _Post_ published a “best of Josh Lyman” article, putting all of his most ill-advised sarcastic comments in one place for public consumption. On Friday, CJ accidentally made an off-hand quip about the whole fiasco to a junior reporter from the _San Francisco Chronicle_. She hadn’t realized that she was on the record, although she certainly hadn’t demanded to be off the record, either. She hadn’t been thinking, and it showed. She got skewered by Leo, chastised by Toby, and comforted by Carol. She spent the weekend strategizing and preparing - come Monday, she’d be ready to hit the ground running. But then Monday came, and James MacMillan’s big article was on the front page of the _Baltimore Sun._

It had been picked up by several more prominent newspapers, too, including the _Post_ , even if it was relegated to the gossip section. “Rocky Transition for Bartlet’s Press Secretary; Veteran Reporters Concerned – Can She Do the Job?” The headline was clunky – this was no “Headless Body in Topless Bar” – but the article was a direct hit. CJ felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. It was a bad day for a bad article, but even worse, MacMillan hadn’t exactly been subtle when he described one of the “veteran reporters” who were so concerned about CJ’s competence. It was Danny. Evidently, Danny had been so disgusted by her performance that he’d been willing to go on the record with MacMillan, unnamed but identifiable, and say so. Which, granted, didn’t sound like Danny. She would have pegged him as the type who would take her aside and tell her she was screwing up, tell her how she should fix it, but clearly, she didn’t know Danny like she thought she did. She had half an hour before she had to brief; if she could make it back to her office without seeing anyone at all, she might be able to pull herself together well enough to salvage the situation. 

Going unnoticed was going to be a challenge. For one thing, skulking was hard at six feet tall. For another, today more than usual, she needed to project confidence. She needed to seem like she hadn’t just gotten sucker-punched by a mean, half-rate reporter and her favorite member of the press corps. CJ was a woman with a capital-P Presence, and she couldn’t afford to surrender that at a time when it would be easy for other people to see her as weak - but she really did need to get by everyone without being stopped. Fortunately, the reporters working in the press room let her pass without a word. Maybe they were busy, or maybe they were merciful, but she’d made it to the hallway that led to her office. She was home free, except –


	5. Chapter 5

Danny was going to kill him. He was going to _kill_ him. He wasn’t stupid – tying James MacMillan in knots wouldn’t fix the situation entirely, but if he did it publicly enough, it might do something to wash the taste of guilt and bile out of his throat. He couldn’t stop pacing, getting closer and closer to the section of hallway visible from Carol’s desk before turning sharply away, because make no mistake – CJ would be angry, she’d be hurt, which was worse, and she’d probably never like him back after this - but it was Carol who was going to slit his throat. Or maybe Toby. Or his editor. They could work it out between the three of them. He blew out a breath, trying unsuccessfully to slow his churning mind to a speed where he could think of a way to fix this whole mess. Rapid footsteps approached, and a voice from behind his shoulder hissed, “What kind of a fucking idiot are you, Danny?” Chris. Pulling a deep breath in, Danny turned to face her. “I didn’t know what he was doing. And I _didn’t –_ it was out of context, Chris. He twisted what I said. Or maybe he’s just such a dumbfuck that he thought we agreed, but –“ “See, Danny, that’s a problem. You’re a journalist for a major American paper; a hefty percentage of any paper’s readers are dumbfucks, and your _job_ is to make sure that what you say can be understood by not just the smart readers, but the idiots, as well. What the fuck happened? Why were you talking to James MacMillan in the first place, especially about something like this?”

CJ practically skidded to a halt behind the columns that marked the entrance to the hallway. She wasn’t _hiding_ , and she wasn’t eavesdropping, but she sure as shit wasn’t about to walk past Danny, and she didn’t want to miss Chris turning him inside out. It was nice to hear a journalist defend her, even indirectly. 

“Something like this? What’s that supposed to mean?” “ _Don’t_ , Danny. You know you have to fix this. I’ll help you put MacMillan back in line – hell, we all will – but you weren’t blameless here and you fucking know it. CJ’s going to be good at this. I _like_ CJ. _You_ like CJ. And what’s more, even if we didn’t, what you helped MacMillan do was unprofessional and… cheap. CJ’s had a rough beginning, but that’s not cause to do what you did.”

Leaning against the column, CJ took a deep, shuddering breath. Somehow, Chris had managed to encapsulate the emotional tornado that CJ had been trying to control since the damn article was published. God bless the White House Press Corps. It was tempting to stay – to enjoy Chris’ righteous anger on her behalf, to see if Danny had anything to say for himself – but suddenly, the seemingly impossible task of managing this morning’s briefing seemed like something she could do. If she was calm, if she was controlled, if she was prepared, CJ could make this briefing about the real news stories, of which there were plenty this morning. The article would come up, of course – there was blood in the water – but CJ was as much a shark as anyone else in the press room. If she relied on herself to direct the flow of information, and curbed her impulse to trust the press, even Danny Concannon (especially Danny Concannon), she could be the kind of press secretary nobody wrote articles about. Retracing her steps, CJ walked back past the press room, cutting through Josh’s mercifully empty office to get to her own. A brief tug of war got her the copy of James MacMillan’s article that Carol had been hiding from her. With twenty minutes until the briefing, she sat on her couch with a highlighter, the memos on the day’s news, and the article, and prepared herself for a bloodbath.

Danny couldn’t make his words come out in a straight line. “That’s – I definitely wasn’t blameless. But one thing, Chris – it wasn’t – this wasn’t recent. I talked to MacMillan in Nebraska. And I’m going to reiterate this – I’m not blameless, I fucked up – but hear me out. It was… The night before Omaha. We were in that bar, all of us – I was at the bar, you and Katie were with Donna and CJ, joking about the guys in the press corps, and I just… God. I – for some reason, I must have been in a weird mood, but I couldn’t stay and listen to you guys guess who CJ…” “You have a thing for CJ. Move on. Tell me how having a crush on the press secretary translates to bashing her on the record for a petty fuck like James MacMillan.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I went outside to get some air, and I was out there, and MacMillan came out. And you know how he thinks his uncle walks on water. He started making pretty obvious insinuations that CJ didn’t measure up to his uncle, that she was too friendly with the press, that they’d push her around.” “Oh, you mean all the things he’s attributing to _you_ , Concannon,” Chris returned with a narrow-eyed glare. “Yeah, actually. That’s exactly how it all got started. I thought – it seemed like he was just an idiot, you know? Like maybe he just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that a good press secretary doesn’t necessarily do the job the same way his uncle did. And I couldn’t exactly tell him that his uncle was the least popular press secretary I’ve ever seen, so I tried to do it by praising his uncle’s… strengths, acknowledging the contrasts between his uncle’s style and CJ’s, and then pointing out that CJ’s good. She’s _good_ at this job, she’s good at handling reporters, and she’s…” “Stop mooning, Nimrod, I’m nowhere near done with you yet. So you lied to the idiot, because his uncle was the shittiest manager of a free press this side of Pyongyang, and you praised CJ in terms faint enough that he managed to use what appear to be direct quotes from you to support his argument that CJ is unfit for her job.” Chris drew a deep breath, paused, and exhaled. “What the hell kind of article did he tell you he was writing? That’s the part I really don’t understand, Danny.” “ _He didn’t tell me he was writing an article._ It seemed like he just wanted to talk, you know? To bond, to be a real member of the press corps.” Chris snorted derisively. “Oh, don’t you give me that shit, Christine Marie. You love mentoring people. It just turns out I was trying to mentor a backbiting dipshit.” “He really didn’t ever tell you that you were on the record?” “He never did. And he never told me the article was going to print today. I found out from my editor, who saw the column in the gossip section of our paper.” “Bet Vince was _delighted._ ” “Ordinarily, my pissed-off editor is my biggest problem, but with this… Chris, I just feel shitty. I did something really stupid, something hurtful and nasty, even if I never meant it to be, and I don’t know how to fix it. I’d write an article praising CJ, but it would just… look bad for both of us, you know? And I need to go explain myself to her, but – it’s cowardly, but I just hate that I’m going to have to start the story with, ‘I got pissed because I couldn’t handle hearing you say you had a crush on –“ “On _you._ ” “What?!” “Christ, you do _not_ deserve this.” Danny looked like he’d just been hit upside the head with a shovel, but joy was beginning to filter through the shock. Chris sighed, rolled her eyes, and spoke slowly. “Danny, when did you leave the bar? I thought you were there the whole time. I thought you _knew_. All of our guesses were wrong, but she told us anyway. It was you. And then you did this.” Chris waited an impatient beat for Danny to adjust to his new reality before she went charging ahead.

“Here’s the deal, Danny. You’re right – you can’t write an op-ed praising CJ to the skies. Not even the press corps knows what makes a good press secretary, and nobody outside the press corps cares. They just like the jaunty ring of the phrase ‘incompetent Bartlet staffer.’ Besides, CJ’s still new, and she just fell on her face publicly. A positive op-ed would just make her look worse.” Danny nodded grimly. “So, you owe her. You’re going to have to do favors for her – the kind that make her look good, which probably also means the kind she won’t even realize you’re doing. And if you can think of anything that could save the briefing that’s going to happen in, like, ten minutes, that would be ideal.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Save the briefing_ , Danny thought desperately. By what, pulling the fire alarm? Locking all the assholes out of the room and asking only the questions she wanted asked? Actually, there was something to that. The only issue was that Danny didn’t know what questions she wanted to be asked – but he knew who would.

Danny waited for CJ to leave her office before he approached Carol’s desk. There were six minutes until the briefing. Danny wished he had time to smooth things over, but he was racing the clock. “Carol!” he called, as she started toward the briefing room. She didn’t bother turning around. He jogged to catch up to her, laying a hand on her arm. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Carol snapped, turning to face him. Eyes hot, voice icy, she was the picture of collected rage. “Carol, I swear – I _swear_ – it was a misunderstanding. And I want to fix it, and I know I can’t do it all at once, but you know this briefing is going to go down in flames if she can’t get anyone to ask questions about the substantive issues.” Still obviously furious, Carol inclined her head regally. “Tell me the top three stories – the ones she has extensive notes on. I’ll make sure they all get questions.” Carol’s lips tightened at the thought of helping Danny right now, but if helping him was helping CJ… She nodded tersely. “The CDC and the EPA are releasing a joint study on lead in drinking water; four children in Westchester County have been diagnosed with German Measles; and the Bureau of Labor Statistics puts the number of new jobs this month at around 315,000.” “Thank you,” Danny called over his shoulder as he rushed into the briefing room, searching for Chris and… Mike Joyce, he decided, from the _Times._ Big on the economy, owed him a favor. Each agreed to ask a question. Relieved, Danny sank into his seat just as CJ took the podium. 

CJ surveyed the room with a cool smile, hoping no one could tell that her heart was about to beat out of her chest. “Good morning,” she began, launching directly into her first story. She’d decided to open with the Westchester German Measles – infectious diseases, children, and rich idiots were all attention-getters, which made this story her best shot at starting the briefing from a place of strength. As she delivered the information, though, she recognized the flaw in her plan to achieve unassailable control of the narrative: she couldn’t do it without the press corps. No matter how well she led, if they weren’t following, she was screwed. Her chest tightened as she finished presenting statistics that demonstrated the safety and efficacy of vaccines. She had to trust her reporters to ask the right questions – hell, to ask questions at all. For a harrowing moment, there were no hands raised in the audience. From behind the podium, the brief pause lasted an eternity. A few hands rose, and CJ took a breath. She skipped Mackey and Reynolds, who hadn’t even bothered to hide bloodthirsty smirks; the reporter in the third row she didn’t recognize, and behind him... Another breath – she had to trust the press corps. Even Danny Concannon. He looked her straight in the eye, no smirk in sight. “Danny.”

It wasn’t a set-up. Danny’s question had given her the opportunity to underline the threat that even a few unvaccinated children posed to herd immunity. His follow-up questions allowed her to highlight the administration’s support for the global fight to end polio, remind the press that the First Lady earned a medical degree, and subtly link Bartlet to FDR. Chris set her up to slam Republicans for blocking a bill that would have provided cities with funding to replace lead pipes, and Mike Joyce had several questions about the jobs report that underscored the fact that crucial sectors of the economy were making consistently impressive gains. CJ noticed that, after Joyce asked his last question, he looked at Danny and got a subtle nod. Her stomach did a little flip when she saw it, but she didn’t have time to consider everything it might mean just then. Each of their questions had prompted other real questions on the issues. It had been a real briefing, and if she could stick the landing, she wouldn’t have to worry about the next one. On the right side of the second row, a hand rose. CJ maintained her composure as the pit of her stomach iced over. “MacMillan.” “Do you have any response to those who are concerned about how friendly you are with the press – those who worry that you’ll be unable to lead in the briefing room?” The pathetic little shit. Refusing to give show any emotional reaction at all, CJ responded with knife-edged calm. “No.” She was about to end the briefing when a hand went up in the fourth row. The second part of the dynamic duo. She considered ignoring him, but he’d saved her once today, so – “Danny?” “Just quickly, CJ, on the jobs report…” CJ left the room with a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. They had ended the briefing on the issues, and Danny had made MacMillan look petty in front of the press corps. Well, MacMillan had made MacMillan look petty, but Danny made sure everyone caught it.  


	8. Chapter 8

Over the next few months, Danny took just about any opportunity to make sure MacMillan looked like an idiot. That was purely personal; he didn’t imagine that CJ cared one way or the other, and while she had seemed to know that he’d had a hand in her successful post-MacMillan briefing, she was obviously still upset with him. At least, her anger was obvious to any skilled observer who’d dedicated a significant amount of time to figuring out CJ Cregg’s expressions, which meant that the rest of the press corps saw nothing suspect in the way she treated him. In fact, a few of them saw the cutting jokes she aimed at him in briefings as signs of favoritism, while others pointed approvingly to times when CJ ignored Danny, citing instances where she denied him access in favor of the _Akron Sun-Herald_ or whatever the fuck as evidence that seniority wasn’t everything under this administration. Danny tried to let it all roll off his back. He’d been busy since the article had been published. His editor had sent him on several obvious punishment assignments – a Senate race in Florida, where he’d battled sunburn and heatstroke and dinosaur-sized mosquitoes at outdoor rallies in the swampy humidity; a profile of several leaders of the sovereign citizen movement, which had involved weeks in Idaho and Wyoming, surrounded by whackjobs who never stopped talking; and a staggeringly inane “welcome to Washington” feature, where he had followed a freshman Congresswoman from California and documented the learning curve for a newbie in the House of Representatives. Actually, that last one had been kind of fun, but since the assignment had been handed to him with a snarled, “Don’t even _start_ bitching about this, Concannon,” it hadn't taken much to figure out that his editor hadn't given it to him because the piece was a natural fit for his abilities. When Danny wasn’t on assignment, he was in the White House press room, balancing frustration and fascination with CJ. And on top of his work, there were the favors.

There had been a lot of favors. In fact, doing them had become kind of a part-time job. And he _liked_ it, God help him – he liked knowing that he could make her life easier, help her be better at her job. If he was feeling pragmatic, he could argue that when she was at the top of her game, it usually made things better for everyone. If he was honest, he’d admit that staying in the loop about her life and providing things she needed fed right into the way he felt about her. As much as he liked helping CJ, though, Danny couldn’t deny being excited that today, his debt was going to be paid all the way off. Today's favor was a real whopper, and unlike the other, anonymous ones, he was going to take credit. Danny Concannon was _out_ of the dog house, and CJ was going to acknowledge it. Sam Seaborn was palling around with a prostitute, and Danny _wasn’t_ going to write some slime-spewing, shit for brains, moralistic expose on Bartlet’s doe-eyed speech writer, and CJ could damn well say thank you. Danny snorted at that. Even in his current mood, he’d acknowledge that expecting a thank you was pushing it.

As he walked toward her office, a little frisson of excitement sparked up his spine. He missed the way they used to talk – bantering, sparring, maybe a little flirting. There was a good chance that CJ was going to come after him with a verbal meat cleaver at the beginning of this conversation, and maybe it was perverse, but Danny was spoiling to match wits with her. Posted outside her door, he heard her coming down the hall, performing the rhetorical equivalent of fending off three reporters with one hand while eating an apple and playing solitaire. He grinned just hearing it, but stifled the smile – he wasn’t starting their battle from a position of weakness. The favor he was about to offer was a goddamn ace up his sleeve, and there was no way he would trade it in for anything less than it was worth.

When she stopped in front of him, he had to tamp that smile down again; his comfort was that, while she kept her disdainful expression steady, there was a little flicker in her eye that suggested to him – the guy who spent way too much time analyzing her microexpressions – that she might be happy to see him. She pushed first, and he pushed back - he’d argue that his “I’ve only been a White House Reporter for seven years” line drew first blood. That victory was sweet, but it was _nothing_ compared to the feeling of blowing down the gates with his scoop. That was a World Series grand slam feeling, but he wouldn’t gloat… much. “Ask me inside, CJ.”


	9. Chapter 9

Something had changed. Facing off with Danny in the insular dark of her office, lit only by the warm glow of her desk lamp, CJ kept her voice modulated and her fangs bared as she considered his demeanor. For the past four months, when he hadn’t been sent off on penance assignments, he’d been reserved in the briefing room. He took everything she threw at him, barely returning a quip; at first, she’d appreciated his obvious acknowledgment of her right to throw a few punches at him, but for the past few weeks, the hits had felt a little empty. She had a sneaking suspicion that the first briefing after the article wasn’t the last time he’d pulled strings to make her life easier, but it was only a suspicion, because since that day, he’d made himself scarce. He attended every briefing, sure, but past that, he stayed in the press room. He was never in her office unless she called him for an exclusive, never loitering in the hallway like some of the others. It felt strange to say she’d missed him when he hadn’t been gone. But today, Danny was _back_ – no holds barred Danny – and she couldn’t have explained why the idea made her feel simultaneously comforted and anxious. She couldn’t trust him yet – not quite – but she wouldn’t rule out the possibility anymore. When the phone rang, she had already made up her mind. “Hang on a sec – I’m going to give you a ten minute head start on something.” “What for?” “For being a good guy.”

Dialing his editor’s number, Danny could barely contain his excitement. He was _back._ And even better, he was back with her blessing. She’d called him one of the good guys – and the best part was, she’d called him one of the good guys right after he’d played hardball with her on a scoop that was just as gossipy and nasty as the article that had landed him in this shit in the first place. He wasn’t back because she knew she could count on him for favors, although he could already tell that he was going to keep helping her out – as a hobby, kind of. Something to do with his spare time besides listen to his police scanner. No, he was back as a senior White House correspondent, who she could trust to ask hard questions but to ask them fairly, and he was back with a ten-minute lead on a goddamn huge story. He felt like Muhammad Ali in the Jungle, but he imagined she probably did, too – and that was kind of the best part, except that he couldn’t think of a sporting analogy where two opponents both netted a major victory.

Even hours later, when the print deadline had passed, his grin hadn’t faded. He was back on his own terms, and on hers. That was a foundation they could build on. A wadded up ball of paper clipped the back of his head, and he turned to see Chris smirking at him from the entrance to the press room. “I heard you had the lead on the Syria story,” she began, watching him closely. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “I was in front of it by about ten minutes.” “So you finally fixed things with CJ?” Subtlety had never been Chris’ style, but Danny had to admit, she got the job done. “I think so,” he began. “I think… I think we’re in a spot now where I can push hard on a story, and she can push right back with threats and bluster and party line bullshit, and we can both still like each other, you know? Still see each other as the good guys.” “Oh, so _that’s_ how you see her,” Chris drawled, rolling her eyes. “I do! I mean, as more than that, too, sure, but –“ “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Nimrod, give it up. I’m glad you’re back on the inside. Don’t fuck yourself over again. Or if you do, y’know, don’t take her with you.” Walking out of her office, CJ couldn’t help but overhear Chris’ advice. She really should send Chris flowers or something, she thought – recently, it seemed like Chris was giving voice to everything CJ wanted to say but couldn’t. Plus, Chris had a way with words. _Nimrod_ , CJ considered, a wide smile spreading across her face. She’d have to use that.


End file.
